Reap What You Sow
by RipredtheGnawer
Summary: This is not the story of a girl fleeing from the Unconsecrated. This is the story of two people who can only hope to understand each other before they die. This is the story of Mary's parents, whether they want it to be told or not. Rated M for a reason!
1. Prologue

**A/N: My first Forest fanfiction (see the alliteration?) so please don't hate on it too much. Yeah, this is really short, but it's a prologue. Live with it.**

**Disclaimer: Carrie Ryan owns the general everything.**

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He is so close, so close, yet so far away. That simple fence is always there to separate us. I call out to him and I know he is the same beneath the torn clothes and broken fingers. Beneath the death, he is my husband.

"Matthew!" I scream, and his moans grow louder. I am compelled, I walk forward until another step will bring me within his reach. Dare I take that step, that leap into the unknown terror?

He does not speak in words but I know that he recognizes me. He must.

Suddenly, I remember what should be happening. Mary should be here. She should hold me back, but why? Why must I be kept from my husband?

This is what drives me to go within his reach.

He grabs me, and though I can feel his claw-like nails ripping at my flesh, it is a blessing to finally touch him again after all this time.

I don't even care that I am going to die.


	2. I

We are both thirteen years old when I begin to notice Matthew.

He is looking at the fence, his eyes huge and scared but trying not to show it as he watches the Unconsecrated moan for his blood. I don't look at the monsters, but I can hear them. I can always hear them.

"Why are they here?" he asks, still staring.

I hesitate before replying. "Because they are Infected."

"That is not enough," he says. "It does not explain why the first ones became Infected. It does not answer my question."

I do not tell him that, because I do not know how the first monster came about, I cannot give him the knowledge that he wants. Instead, I watch Matthew watch the Unconsecrated, noticing for the first time how strong he is. He is muscular from training to become a Guardian. He has a knife in his belt, which he carries with ease. As he gazes at the Unconsecrated, his face is hard yet not frightening.

Eventually he turns to me and speaks. "Do you know any stories?"

"Why?"

His face falls and to my horror, a single tear slides down his cheek. He angrily wipes it away. With his back to me, he explains, "I want to forget, to imagine that I am someplace without so much evil. Why does God allow such bad things to happen?"

"I don't know," I say softly.

Matthew's eyes are clouded and he tells me more, something I never thought to hear from him. "I want to hear a story because… because last week my sister was Turned."

I gasp, too late to muffle the sound. "I am so sorry," I tell him, and I truly am.

"She was six." His voice is bleak and hopeless. He points to an Unconsecrated. "There she is."

I look where his finger shows, and there is a small thing that used to be a girl. Her blonde hair stands out in a wild frizz from her head, her blue eyes bloodshot and horrible. She rattles the fence with broken hands and a dreadful moan comes from her cut lips. Once she wore what must have been a green dress, but now it is just a tattered cloth the color of dirt. One can barely tell that it was ever something beautiful.

The most awful thing is that she still resembles a human, more so than the others do. She still looks sane enough to make me want to protect her. I struggle not to help her return to the safe side of the fence.

It is a sight I know I will never forget because, even Unconsecrated, this wisp of a girl looks _scared_, just like she must have when she was alive.

"W-what's her name?" I ask, my voice too high. I know it is rude but I can't stop the question.

"Was," Matthew corrects me. "What _was_ her name. She's not here anymore." He looks into my eyes, his irises a light blue just like his sister's. "It was Mar Angel."

Mar Angel. It would have been a fitting name for such a beautiful child, but now it just seems horribly ironic. Of course a girl named for God's messengers would be Turned into one of the damned.

"I really am sorry," I repeat sincerely.

"I know you are, Eve."

"You wanted a story?" It seems the least I can do for him.

"Do you know any?" I may be imagining the hope in his voice.

"Yes, my mother tells me them. They're about the time before the Return."

"Please tell me one?"

Suddenly I want nothing more than to tell Matthew every story that I know. I want to make him happy and to take the haunted look from his eyes, even if it means placing it in my own.

"They say there was a place, beyond the Forest of Hands and Teeth, where there was nothing but water. It stretched out forever in all directions until you couldn't see it any longer. The sound of it was like wind in the trees, and men rode it in great platforms that could float. It was called the ocean."

Many times, I tell him the story of the ocean, and others besides. I tell of great hills, taller than the Cathedral, covered in snow. Of villages much larger than ours that were called cities, with glass everywhere and lights even brighter than those the generator makes. Brighter than the moon.

I don't know if Matthew believes me, but it doesn't matter. It is enough that he smiles for a few minutes, because the rest of the time he is consumed by grieving for his Angel.

"Would you like to see photographs?"

The question is mine, and I don't know what prompts it. I just want to do something different, and maybe show Matthew something of myself. Something besides the stories that he has heard dozens of times over.

"Where can we find those? There are not many left."

"My family has several. There is a picture of the ocean," I add, knowing how he loves to hear of endless water.

"Your parents wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," I assure him, not caring if they're displeased.

We walk to my home, and the entire way we are silent. At my door, Matthew pauses.

"You are absolutely sure?"

"Yes!" I say, and laugh a tiny bit. We both brush a hand over the line of Scripture beside the doorframe before entering. I show him to the room where all the heirlooms are kept, trinkets so old that one must be very careful not to damage them.

"These are the pictures," I tell him, gently brushing the shiny surface of one. It shows a girl, my great-great-grandmother, standing in more than enough water to quench the thirst of the village for many years. The photograph is old, though, and the colors are almost gone.

"Is that… the ocean?" Matthew asks, sounding as though he's not quite daring to believe it.

I nod. "That's called a train," I add, pointing to the picture of a hulking metal contraption on metal rails set into the earth. "You remember the story about them?"

"They were very fast and carried people and tools wherever they needed to go," Matthew recites, studying the photograph. "This is really what they looked like?"

"Yes. This one, we don't know what it is called, but it's similar to trains. Look."

We both bend over the image of a long, long box with a slanted front and windows its entire length. It seems to be underground and there's light coming from the tunnel ceiling.

"What is it?" Matthew asks, his voice excited.

"I haven't the slightest idea," I tell him, "but it looks nice."

"I don't think so," he disagrees. "It's too dark down there and too enclosed. Who would want to ride in it?"

"Perhaps that was the only way."

"Perhaps."

I watch him gaze at the other artifacts, bits of our history, so much memory stuffed into a tiny room. He seems interested and I wonder why I'm so glad about that.

"Eve? What's going on here?"

"Oh!" I give a little yelp and spin around to see my mother standing in the doorway. "Mother, this is Matthew, my – my friend." It's true, he is my friend after weeks of sitting together. But I wonder if he could be more than that someday.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew," she says. She looks him up and down, and he stares evenly back. I am impressed that he can, because my mother is the sternest person I have ever known. Tall and sharp-boned, she is sharp enough to cut with words.

"And you, ma'am," he replies. "Eve was just showing me the picture of the ocean."

"Well, mind you be careful," she says, and sweeps from the room.

Matthew turns to me when she's gone, his eyebrows raised. "That is your mother?" he asks. I nod. "She looks as though she wants to eat me! I thought you said she wouldn't mind."

"She doesn't," I say truthfully. "That was cheerful for her."

Matthew grins. Then he grows thoughtful. "You called me a friend," he states.

"I did." Can he hear how loudly my heart is pounding?

"I like that." His grin widens.

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**A/N: Did you like it? Does everyone sound _way_ too formal? Or is it just generally crappy? Please let me know in a review! C'mon, it's just one button... click it! PLEASE!**


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